


If I Could Open My Arms

by SkysongMA



Series: This Is Not About Love [8]
Category: Adventure Time
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-23
Updated: 2016-02-23
Packaged: 2018-05-22 21:37:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6094816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SkysongMA/pseuds/SkysongMA
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Marshall Lee sighed. “Well, I guess I should let you go to sleep. Since you actually sleep and stuff.”</p><p>“I appreciate that, too,” said G.B. </p><p>Marshall Lee slid backwards but paused in the doorway. “Open or closed?”</p><p>“Closed, please.”</p><p>The last thing G.B. saw before getting into bed was Marshall Lee glancing at him before shutting the door. The dirty smirk had faded; in its place was a rarely glimpsed softness. G.B. always had a hard time falling asleep in strange beds, but for once the noise of the house wasn’t the cause.</p>
            </blockquote>





	If I Could Open My Arms

**Author's Note:**

> So, yeah, it's been like two years since I updated, but this is 12k, so I hope you can forgive me.
> 
> Title from "Marching Bands of Manhattan" by Death Cab for Cutie.

_Day One_

Marshall Lee drove a motorcycle because _of course he did._

G.B. was not regretting this, not precisely. But he had—reservations. Yes.

“I said I’d buy you a bus ticket,” said Marshall Lee, leaning back over his shoulder.

“No, it’s—it’s all right.” G.B. clears his throat and tries to get the situation under control. “I’m just left wondering how you could possibly be more of a cliche.”

Marshall Lee rolled his eyes. “Sure. Right.” He reached behind himself and popped the small trunk open. Inside was a second leather jacket and helmet. When Marshall Lee removed them, the space inside was just large enough for G.B.’s backpack.

G.B. shrugged on the jacket. It was new and too large for Marshall Lee. He raised his eyebrows at Marshall Lee.

Marshall Lee shrugged at him. “I figured we’d need it sooner or later. Can’t walk everywhere, gumdrop.”

“I really do wish you’d quit calling me that.”

“Wish in one hand, shit in the other. _Gumdrop_.”

“You are _obscene_.” G.B. put on the helmet so Marshall Lee could not continue the conversation, but he could still hear Marshall Lee laughing softly.

***

The ride to the city took half an hour. In that half-hour, G.B. decided he did not like motorcycles, and when they arrived at Simone’s house, G.B. proceeded to tell Marshall Lee so in as detailed a manner as possible.

Marshall Lee, of course, shrugged this off and only said, “You look good in leather, gumdrop.”

G.B. said nothing in response to that, but only because he did not think it was wise to pick a fight when he would be staying with Marshall Lee for the next few days. Anyway, they fought enough that he wouldn’t have to start any.

The key to Marshall Lee’s door hung on a chain decorated with a cartoon snowflake. “It’s Simone’s, okay?”

“Did I say anything?” G.B. replied, all innocence.

The house was pleasant and surprisingly clean, with high ceilings, skylights, and a loft. It did not seem like the kind of place Marshall Lee would gravitate toward, but the way he moved within it—he kicked off his shoes and hung up his jacket and stepped up onto the wood floor, and the perpetual hunch disappeared from his shoulders as he turned to face G.B. again. “What do you think?” he asked, holding out his hands.

“It’s good,” G.B. said, but he was looking at the calm written into the arch of Marshall Lee’s shoulders.

***

Marshall Lee went to the bathroom, so G.B. decided to snoop. Hung over the fireplace were a number of framed pictures. G.B. wondered if any of them were of Marshall Lee’s near-mythical mother, but he was disappointed: the only woman in any of them was definitely Simone, since she was white, with silver-blonde hair. Gold half-moon spectacles hung off the end of her nose; she had a sweet, open-hearted smile.

And Marshall Lee—

There he was as a child, maybe eight or nine with wary, dark eyes. There again as a teenager with too much eyeliner. Finally, around the age he was now, maybe a year before he and G.B. met.

G.B. knew so little about him, really. Did he want to change that?

***

When they had lunch, Marshall Lee proudly demonstrated his ability to make asparagus cashew pilaf. He also revealed a talent for cooking steaks. “It’s the only thing my mother ever taught me,” said Marshall Lee, without prompting. G.B. decided not to push it.

***

Marshall Lee was uncharacteristically quiet throughout the meal. G.B. bit his tongue and did not comment, if only because he was determined not to start anything. Never mind that a fight would be much simpler than the kind of serious conversation than sleeping over at Marshall Lee’s house really deserved.

“So…” said Marshall Lee, pushing the last piece of steak around on his plate, “do you want to meet her?”

Something sharper came to mind, but G.B. ignored it. “That’s what I came here for, isn’t it?”

***

  
Before they left, Marshall Lee took a box of Sno-balls off the top of the fridge. “She loves these.” He also picked up an enormous red bass guitar, but he said nothing about that, so G.B. didn’t ask. Never mind that he was curious.

***

Thankfully, they could walk to the hospital. Marshall Lee pointed out different places he liked—the library, a coffee shop, a good spot for busking. As they got closer, though, Marshall Lee got quieter.

G.B. wasn’t sure what to do about this. He didn’t wish to ruin it. He took in a breath and said, “Is it going to be that bad?”

Marshall Lee jumped, like G.B. had goosed him. “Quit _saying_ that,” he said, rubbing his arms. “You’ll jinx her. I just… I don’t like hospitals. They’re—bad places.”

G.B. frowned at that, but he wasn’t sure how to take the idea apart.

***

They had to sign in at the front desk, and G.B. had to sign some kind of waiver. As though he knew enough about medicine to spill secrets.

“It’s how all the bills are paid for and stuff,” Marshall Lee mumbled, watching G.B. sign the paperwork with a morose expression. “Simone has some contacts at the drug company, so they take care of everything in exchange for the right to use her as a lab rat.”

“Rats are wonderful creatures,” G.B. said absently. “Intelligent.”

“Of course you like rats.” When G.B. asked what that meant, Marshall Lee refused to answer.

***

The hospital room was light and airy. One could almost forget it was a hospital room, except for the faint smell of ammonia and the bed. Simone was sitting at the window. She was thinner than in her pictures; her hair was longer and wispier, held back in a loose ponytail. But her smile was quiet and kind. “Marshall Lee! You didn’t say you were coming today.”

“’Course I was.” Marshall Lee’s voice was an embarrassed mumble. “What else am I supposed to do? Play checkers by myself?”

“I wouldn’t doubt you would.” Simone looked past Marshall Lee and raised her eyebrows. G.B. stepped fully into view, trying not to hesitate even though he hated meeting new people. This woman was important to Marshall Lee. He had to make a good impression.

Marshall Lee cleared his throat. “This is G.B. Remember? I told you about him.”

G.B. stepped further into the room, waiting for the woman to speak, but she seemed content to let him stew. He cleared his throat. “It’s nice to meet you.”

Simone smiled. “He’s much better mannered than the boys you usually bring around, Marshall Lee.”

G.B. bit back a snort. Marshall Lee just shrugged. “They can’t all be winners, Simone. I’ve tried to make him more interesting, but he just refuses.”

G.B. glared at him. “Because your idea of interesting usually involves committing a felony.”

Marshall Lee shrugged again, and Simone laughed. It was soft, like the rest of her. “He’s a bit of a troublemaker, yes. But you’ve been a good influence on him.”

Marshall Lee gasped in outrage. “He has not!”

“Yes, he has. You’re in the hospital with me and you’re not even shaking. I’d call that progress.”

Marshall Lee dropped his eyes and muttered something that might have been a denial, but Simone just kept smiling.

“I doubt it has anything to do with me,” said G.B. lightly. He felt he should defend Marshall Lee, even though Simone was teasing more gently than G.B. ever had. “I’ve been trying to make him respectable, but it doesn’t work.”

Simone laughed again. “That’s all right. He makes a good ruffian.”

“Why do you have to pick on me, Simone?” Marshall Lee slumped against the wall dramatically. “I was being nice and everything.” He produced the Sno-Balls from behind his back.

Simone snorted. “So dramatic. You’ll never grow out of that. A born showman.”

Marshall Lee let out another staged sigh and walked over to her bedside table to place the Sno-Balls within Simone’s reach. Simone patted the box but did not open it. “You don’t want any?” Marshall Lee’s voice was casual, but he was hesitant; his hand hovered near Simone’s, like he wanted to touch her but didn’t dare. G.B. felt a sudden, stabbing fondness and had to look away.

Simone smiled distantly. “I’m on a diet today, I’m afraid. I have another round of testing tomorrow. Didn’t I tell you that?” A furrow appeared between her brows.

Marshall Lee did touch her now, squeezing the hand that still lingered on the box. “Yeah, you did. I’m just a derp and forgot because I had to pick up G.B. and stuff. You know I can’t remember what day it is.”

Her smile reappeared, and she turned her hand palm up so she could squeeze Marshall Lee’s fingers. “Of course.” The slight furrow remained, though, and her smile was not as untroubled as before.

Marshall Lee’s eyes moved over her face, no doubt tracking her mood. He bit his lip the way he did before he said something self-deprecating. G.B. decided it was best to step in. “If you know the dates of your testing, I can put them in my calendar. I’d say I’d just write them down on the calendar in your house, but I know he won’t check it. I can remind him, though.”

The furrow finally disappeared, and she favored G.B. with a smile that made him understand Marshall Lee’s devotion. It was like the sun coming out from behind clouds. “That would be wonderful. They’re all written down over there.” She gestured at the wall. It was blank. The frown reappeared. “I thought—”

“It’s over here, gumdrop,” said Marshall Lee quickly. “This thing.” He held up a calendar decorated with penguin pictures. G.B. took it and started putting the notes on it in his phone. “You want it back over there when he’s done, Simone?”

She shook her head. “I remember now. They took it down to write some more tests on it. I don’t want to see it. I get reminded all the time.”

“Okay.” Marshall Lee sat down. He put his bass on his knee but didn’t play it.

G.B. kept taking notes as they talked back and forth about things he didn’t know. There were lots of test dates. G.B. filed that away, though he had no intention to bring it up. It was obviously a touchy subject. When he finished, he straightened but didn’t try to step back into the conversation. He watched them—Simone’s amused, knowing smile; Marshall Lee trying to play off his affection by tuning his bass or fidgeting with his boots or the holes in his jeans.

Again, G.B. felt a stabbing fondness. He rubbed his chest, touching his inhaler in his pocket. He wanted to walk up and put a hand on Marshall Lee’s shoulder, have Marshall Lee look up and smirk at him. Or maybe smile that halfway smile. G.B. swallowed. “Where do you want this?” he said, so he could stop looking at them.

They glanced at him as though they had forgotten he was in the room, which they probably had. “Just leave it there,” said Simone after a moment.

G.B. replaced it on the table by the windowsill, folding it so only the line of penguins in the picture showed.

Simone settled back in her chair. “Now, Marshall Lee, I’m glad you came, but I did have some work to do. One of my students sent me an article to look over. You should go take G.B. somewhere nice.”

Marshall Lee sighed. “Okay, okay. I know. You want to get rid of me. That’s how it always is.” He got to his feet.

Simone waved that away. “Every time you do this.” Marshall Lee bent down to kiss her offered cheek. She touched his arm. “You know I’ll never tire of you.”

Marshall Lee smiled. “I just like to make sure.”

Simone scoffed. “Go on. Do something interesting so you’ll actually have something to talk about tomorrow.”

“So we can visit tomorrow?”

Simone frowned slightly. “I believe so. The testing’s in the morning. I should be ready by dinner.”

“So we’ll take you out,” said Marshall Lee, brightening. “Hospital food’s gross.”

“That would be lovely. Now shoo.” She picked up the accordion folder next to her book and rustled it.

“Okay, okay.” He kissed her cheek again and darted out of the room.

“It was nice to meet you,” G.B. repeated.

“A pleasure,” said Simone, smiling enigmatically.

G.B. rushed to catch up with Marshall Lee. He was waiting outside the door. “You’re slow,” he said.

“I’m polite.”

Marshall Lee shook his head and did not speak until he was outside of the hospital. He started walking backwards in front of G.B., hands laced behind his back. G.B. raised his eyebrows. “Are you staring at me for a reason?”

Marshall Lee glanced away. “…Thanks for being good with her,” he said quietly. “Today was a good day, but that just kinda makes it worse when she slips like that. And I’m no good at it.”

G.B. wanted to demur, but he didn’t know how. Instead, he said, “Well, now you just have to remember to call me, and you’ll be okay.”

Marshall Lee ducked his head so his hair fell in his eyes. “Thanks. I mean it.”

***

When they arrived back at the house, Marshall Lee kicked off his shoes and flopped on the pale blue couch. G.B followed at a more sedate pace, leaning against the back of the couch.

“So what do you want to do?” said Marshall Lee. “The world’s your oyster.”

G.B. shrugged. “What do you usually do?”

Marshall Lee shrugged back. “Dick around, I guess. Play music, usually. It keeps my hands busy.”

G.B. trailed his fingers over the plush couch. “So play. I won’t stop you.”

Marshall Lee frowned, just slightly, as though he were waiting or the punchline. G.B. did not feel like indulging this suspicion, so instead he took a seat in the chair next to the couch, pulling out his tablet so he could read.

After a moment, Marshall Lee pulled his bass onto his lap and started to play.

***

They sat like that for some time. G.B. did not get very far in his book; he kept getting caught up in the music, even though as far as he could tell Marshall Lee was just noodling around. Not even testing out lyrics.

Then Marshall Lee announced he was hungry, and they ordered Chinese and sat on opposite ends of the couch as they ate. G.B. wanted to use the table, but Marshall Lee insisted that was not how one ate Chinese takeout. They got into an argument about chopsticks, and that dissolved into a different argument, and on and on and on. It got late before G.B. even realized; he found himself stifling a yawn. At some point their feet had gotten tangled together, but he didn’t feel like bothering to pull himself free.

“Tired, candy corn?” said Marshall Lee, raising his eyebrows. G.B. couldn’t tell if he was making fun or not.

G.B. sighed. “Yes, actually. Unlike someone I could name, I don’t usually sleep all day and stay up all night.”

“I’ll have you know my sleep schedule is almost normal these days. It has to be, or else I couldn’t visit Simone.”

“Oh, yes, of course.” G.B. stretched. He felt Marshall Lee watching him and wondered what he saw. “So. I’m tired. Where do I get to sleep?”

Marshall Lee’s eyes flicked away; G.B. expected a smart remark, but he just said, “You can sleep in Simone’s bed. It’s all made and nice and stuff.”

G.B. watched him, looking for signs of subterfuge. “Am I kicking you out of it? Because if so I am perfectly happy to sleep on the couch. You need your rest.”

Marshall Lee snorted. “Please. You barely fit on the couch.” He stretched his arms over his head, definitely on purpose. G.B. watched anyway. “I’ve got my own bed. No worries.”

“There’s only one bedroom.” Marshall Lee pointed at the loft. “Oh.”

Marshall Lee got to his feet, slowly. “Want to see my room?” The question was cautious, casual.

G.B. responded in kind. “Yes, but only because I want to see how much of a mess it is. I want to know if there’s any kind of hazardous material I should be aware of.”

Marshall Lee stuck out his tongue. “I keep it clean! Maybe not crazy you-level clean, but clean.” He glanced away. “I want it to be nice for when Simone comes home.”

“Ah. Yes.” G.B. cleared his throat. “Well?”

Marshall Lee got up in a fluid motion and walked over to the loft. He jumped up to grab a short cord which pulled down a set of steps and climbed them without waiting.

G.B. sighed and followed. The sigh was for show; he was curious. Marshall Lee’s bed was a mattress on the floor, unmade. The sheets were black and red. There was a skylight, but it was covered in blackout curtains. Music books were scattered all over the floor, but to G.B.’s surprise there was a hamper for Marshall Lee’s clothes which actually seemed to be used. Faded band posters covered the walls. On the bedside table was another photo of Marshall Lee and Simone.

Marshall Lee was watching him. G.B. pretended not to notice. He finished his inspection. “Well. This actually looks like a place humans could inhabit. I’m shocked.”

Marshall Lee rocked back on his heels. “Wow. You’re maybe actually approving of something I do. I’m shocked.”

G.B. smiled, thin and sharp. “I have to make sure I keep you on your toes.”

Marshall Lee snorted. “You’re taller than me. That’s easy.”

G.B. rolled his eyes and started back down the steps. Marshall Lee followed and darted in front of him to open the door next to the bathroom. Simone’s bedroom was full of books; the bed was patterned with pale blue snowflakes. It was reassuringly clean.

“I washed the sheets and everything.” He sounded proud of himself.

“I appreciate it.”

Marshall Lee grinned. “Yeah you do.” He sighed. “Well, I guess I should let you go to sleep. Since you actually sleep and stuff.”

“I appreciate that, too.”

Marshall Lee slid backwards but paused in the doorway. “Open or closed?”

“Closed, please.”

The last thing he saw before getting into bed was Marshall Lee glancing at him before shutting the door. The dirty smirk had faded; in its place was a rarely glimpsed softness. G.B. always had a hard time falling asleep in strange beds, but for once the noise of the house wasn’t the cause.

_Day Two_

G.B. woke early as always. He didn’t feel rested, but that was to be expected sleeping in a strange bed. And with thoughts of Marshall Lee knocking around his head. He wasn’t surprised that Marshall Lee wasn’t awake yet; it was just after six. G.B. took a shower, then poked around the kitchen. He had energy for a lot of reasons—Simone’s tenuous health, being away from home, Marshall Lee—and the best way to work it off was food.

Simone didn’t have much, but there was an unopened box of pancake mix and a few stale spices to doctor it with. In the fridge were a few beers, expired orange juice, eggs, and milk. And a box of strawberries.

G.B. smiled.

Marshall Lee woke up about an hour later. G.B. was in the chair in the living room, reading. Marshall Lee stared at him blankly for a moment, then disappeared into the bathroom. After almost an hour, he emerged with wet hair falling into his eyes and a towel around his waist. G.B. read and reread the same paragraph to try and wrap his head around it as Marshall Lee climbed up to his bedroom. When Marshall Lee came down a few minutes later in shorts and a ratty band shirt, G.B. had already moved back to the kitchen, setting up the stove.

Marshall Lee looked skeptical. “What are you doing?”

“Making pancakes, obviously.”

“You’re really making breakfast?”

G.B. nodded. “I’m hungry.”

Marshall Lee, G.B. had already learned, was like a cat while someone was cooking. He was curious about everything and needed to be in the way. G.B. bore this with patience, ignoring most of his questions.

Marshall Lee’s eyes widened when G.B. took out the strawberries he had cut up earlier. “What are those for?”

“They go in the pancakes, obviously.” G.B. ladled out some mix into the pan and dropped three strawberry slices into the pancake. Marshall Lee watched with rapt attention.

“Strawberries are my favorite,” he said after a moment.

“I know,” said G.B.

***

Marshall Lee ate his pancakes before G.B. was even finished cooking, then lolled around in his chair watching G.B. eat his. G.B. did not like being watched while he ate. Instead, he said, “So what are we doing today?”

Marshall Lee nibbled on his lower lip—not a nervous gesture, exactly, but the sort of carefully not-nervous gesture G.B. had come to associate with Marshall Lee wanting something he didn’t want to admit to wanting.

G.B. wondered if he had a tell like that and, if so, if Marshall Lee was good enough to detect it. The thought made him break out in goosebumps, and he rubbed his arms.

Marshall Lee did not notice, which was a blessing. Instead, he pulled one foot up onto the chair and looped his arm around his knee. “…You said you would teach me to make cookies,” he said at last.

G.B. cocked his head, surprised, both that Marshall Lee had remembered and that he would hesitate to bring it up. What on earth did that mean? “I did. Is that what you want to do today?”

Marshall Lee shifted his weight. “I mean, if you don’t care. It’s your vacation, dude. Aren’t you supposed to do crazy shit on spring break?” He paused, and his lips twitched. “Except that for you, crazy shit would be, like, unbuttoning your top button. Or wearing houndstooth instead of argyle or something.”

G.B. ignored this. “If that’s what you want to do, that’s what you want to do. I’ve got the whole week, after all. And teaching you anything is a process.”

Marshall Lee blew a raspberry at him, which G.B. also ignored, focusing instead on his last pancake. He hadn’t realized how hungry he was. Marshall Lee shrugged, finally. “I’m not really feeling the ‘going out and doing things that involve being places where other people are’ thing today. I’d rather, like, hang out. I guess.” He hesitated. “We haven’t seen each other in a while and stuff, I mean.”

G.B. finished his pancake and looked at the streak of syrup on his plate for a moment before speaking. He was not sure what to make of Marshall Lee’s request—well, the request itself wasn’t strange, but the way he put it was. Something was changing, and G.B. wasn’t sure if he was ready to look at it directly yet. Instead, he shrugged. “Well, we’d have to go grocery shopping, but otherwise that sounds fine to me. You know I like to be alone.”

“That’s because you’re boring,” said Marshall Lee, but fondly.

“I am,” said G.B., for once taking no offense to it.

***

G.B. cleaned up, then took another inventory of the kitchen for thoroughness’s sake. Also to make a list. Marshall Lee watched from the kitchen table the whole time, making comments that G.B. ignored. It was almost—comfortable, which G.B. tried not to think about.

When G.B. was finished, Marshall Lee got up and walked out of the kitchen without waiting. G.B. followed him to the living room, where Marshall Lee was already lacing up his big fuck-off boots. “We can walk to the grocery store. Unless you wanna look cool.”

“Walking is better for the environment,” said G.B. with a sniff that was mostly for show. “And I’d rather not be on that deathtrap any more than I have to, thank you. Also, it’s nice out.”

“Good stuff,” said Marshall Lee, getting to his feet. He waited by the mud room. Just for that, G.B. took his sweet time putting on his own shoes and a light jacket, since it was still the tail end of March. Anyway, Marshall Lee was only wearing a tank top and holey jeans, so G.B. figured it would be a good idea to bring a coat since Marshall Lee got cold easily.

The grocery store was only a few blocks away; Marshall Lee walked backwards in front of G.B. most of the way, turning only when they came to an intersection, so that he could better point out places he liked to go. G.B. filed these away for future reference—since they would need more things to do to keep themselves busy over the next few days, not because he wanted to know where Marshall Lee felt like himself.

G.B. only needed a basket at the store, but Marshall Lee insisted on a cart so he could stand on it and wheel down the aisles. G.B. did his best to ignore this and not let on that it was somewhat amusing, if only because there was almost no one else in the store. Marshall Lee evaluated each addition to the cart with interest and grabbed a few things when G.B. wasn’t looking, like Heath chunks and white chocolate chips. G.B. ignored them, since he assumed Marshall Lee was only doing it to get a reaction. And also he liked white chocolate in cookies.

When they got to the register, G.B. reached for his wallet, but Marshall Lee stepped forward. “I’m poor as shit, but Simone isn’t,” he said, with a smile that dared G.B. to challenge him.

G.B. thought about arguing, but Marshall Lee wanted to start something for the sake of starting something, and G.B. was enjoying himself, so he just crossed his arms over his chest and gestured for Marshall Lee to walk in front of him. Marshall Lee, of course, acted like this was his plan the whole time.

***

G.B. insisted on carrying the groceries, since Marshall Lee still walked backwards the entire time and G.B. didn’t want to risk him knocking into something and breaking the eggs.

***

A few minutes later found them in the kitchen. Marshall Lee sat on the counter as G.B. opened two packages of butter and dropped them into a saucepan. “On TV they never cook the butter first,” said Marshall Lee. He was eating the Heath chips straight from the bag.

G.B. thought about objecting to this. Instead, he held out his hand. Marshall Lee obliged and dropped some chips into G.B.’s palm, which he ate before replying. “I take a different method. The end product is superior. First, we have to brown the butter.”

It itched him to leave everything out on the counter, but he was going to use it all anyway, and Marshall Lee would doubtless tease him for putting everything away. He started measuring out the dry ingredients, keeping one eye on the melting butter. Marshall Lee continued eating the Heath chips, watching G.B. with a guileless interest that made G.B. want to fidget. He wasn’t sure if he liked being stared at, but he wasn’t sure that he disliked it, either, and that was. Strange. To say the least.

“Butter isn’t supposed to be brown,” said Marshall Lee at last. His tone was one of confusion, not of antagonism. “Even I know that much about food.”

“Browning the fat solids in butter gives it a depth of flavor that is then transferred to the cookies.” G.B. carefully leveled off his cup of flour. He wished for a scale, but at this size of production, it didn’t matter that much. “You’ll see.”

Marshall Lee ate some more Heath chips before speaking again. “You’d better be telling me the truth.”

G.B. raised an eyebrow at him. “Have I ever lied to you?” Marshall Lee looked away at that. G.B. thought about pressing the point. He might have, if they were talking on the phone. Or if this was a month ago, and he hadn’t been apart from Marshall Lee for so long.

But he was here, and he needed to enjoy himself. And. Anyway. He didn’t really want to press the point. Marshall Lee hadn’t objected, which was a tacit agreement, and that was good enough to be going on with. “Anyway, these are for Simone, and therefore they need to be exemplary. Therefore, we are browning the butter.”

Speaking of the butter, it was starting to foam. G.B. started whisking it, leaving aside the rest of the ingredients so he could make sure the butter wasn’t burning.

Marshall Lee slipped off the counter and set aside the Heath chips. He inspected the collection of dry ingredients like hieroglyphs. “…What else does it need?”

G.B. glanced at him to check for antagonism, more out of habit than anything. Marshall Lee’s tone was neutral, after all. “You can measure out a teaspoon of baking powder to start with. Powder, not soda.”

“What’s the difference?” Marshall Lee asked, opening the cabinet where the dry ingredients lurked.

The question wasn’t serious, but G.B. answered it anyway, partly to needle Marshall Lee and partly because he was the sort of person who couldn’t leave questions unanswered. “Baking powder is basically baking soda that’s been mixed with an acid to neutralize some of the strength of the baking soda.”

Marshall Lee measured out a teaspoon of baking powder, again with the concentration of an Egyptologist in King Tut’s tomb. G.B. was just glad he was being careful. “Why does it need to be neutralized?”

“Baking soda is more powerful, but it can make your food taste strange.” The butter was done browning; G.B. poured it directly onto the brown and white sugar, then whisked them together. He took one of the eggs and cracked it with one hand on the counter, then dropped it in. The second egg he separated, keeping only the yolk. Then he whisked the whole mixture vigorously and set it aside.

Marshall Lee watched him set a timer on his watch. “This is not how they do it on TV,” he repeated.

“My way is better,” said G.B., leaning back on his heels. “It’s scientific. Also I don’t have to use an electric mixer to cream the butter and sugar, which cuts down on production time.”

“I have no idea what you are talking about,” said Marshall Lee, but comfortably.

G.B. shrugged. “Most people don’t care about this stuff as much as I do.”

Marshall Lee looked away. G.B. thought he was boring Marshall Lee. Then Marshall Lee said, “It’s cool. That you care about this. I kind of thought you didn’t care about anything.”

G.B. drew back. The timer on his watch went off, and he picked up the bowl automatically, whisking the contents again and watching them turn shiny and smooth. He reset the timer.

The interruption was good, because he had to admit something: he didn’t want to fight with Marshall Lee, and he was starting to think Marshall Lee didn’t want to fight with him, and that was important. And it made his chest tighten when he thought about it, but he wasn’t willing to inspect that, the same way he wasn’t willing to inspect much of what he thought about Marshall Lee.

G.B.’s first instinct was to point out that he wasn’t the one who kept leaving without a word, but that was a road they’d already been down. He wanted to try and find something else. Instead, he said, “Why do you think I don’t care?” He wasn’t sure how his tone would come off to Marshall Lee. He wished he was softer, but maybe less rough was all he could ever manage. It wasn’t like he’d had much practice softening his edges. Or any.

Marshall Lee chewed on his thumb, avoiding G.B.’s steady gaze. One foot tapped the cabinet in fast waltz time—one two three, one two three. Then he said, quietly, “You’re so cold sometimes I just want to touch you so I can see if you’re giving off body heat or not. I don’t think about winter except when I’m looking at you when you’re mad at me.”

The phrasing was sentimental, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t true. G.B. considered this, looking at the bowl of butter and sugar so he wouldn’t have to talk. His timer went off again, and he whisked the ingredients a third time. Now he could add the dry ingredients, but he didn’t.

At last, he said, “I’ve never had anybody to be warm to.”

Marshall Lee considered this, chewing on his index finger now. G.B. wanted to knock his hand away from his mouth, but instead G.B. stood perfectly still. He was afraid if he made too much noise then the gravity of the situation would lose its hold on Marshall Lee, and he would make a joke, and G.B. would regret trying to be serious.

He didn’t want to regret it.

“I don’t know if I have either.” Marshall Lee’s voice was barely above a breath.

G.B. didn’t know what to say to that. Anything he tried in his head sounded robotic and would not help him try to sound warm. He picked up the bowl instead and held it out to Marshall Lee. “Try some.”

Marshall Lee’s eyes flicked to his; in them was suspicion but also amusement. “That’s not sanitary.”

G.B. responded by sticking his own finger in the bowl and licking off the sugar. He loved this recipe, because the repeated whisking turned the butter and sugar into something like a caramel.

“Hmmph,” said Marshall Lee. He dipped his own finger into the bowl.

***

After that, of course, G.B. had to restrain Marshall Lee from just eating the batter, but that was part and parcel with making cookies, so he didn’t complain.

***

They went back out to the store after G.B. learned that Marshall Lee had no wrapping paper in the house. Marshall Lee in fact thought the request was absurd and spent most of the walk telling him so. But he helped G.B. wrap the cookies in a neat little bundle for Simone. He turned out to be talented at making perfectly straight edges, something that took even G.B. a few tries.

***

In the end they spent so long dealing with the cookies that they ended up buying fast food. G.B. tried to object to this, but Marshall Lee responded by telling him that In and Out Burger was Simone’s favorite. G.B. sniffed at that, but Simone did react with pleasure when she saw the bags, so he could forgive it.

G.B. kept the cookies out of sight, so that way when they were finished eating—he did have to admit the burgers were delicious—he could sneak them to Marshall Lee and Marshall Lee could present them to Simone with the proper flourish.

Simone looked at the wrapping paper in surprise. “Did we have wrapping paper?”

“No,” said Marshall Lee, rocking back on his heels. “But G.B. thought it was a good idea, and I guess maybe he was right.”

G.B. felt a strange twist to hear Marshall Lee actually calling him by name. He was already feeling unsteady watching them. He wanted to be a part of this. He was glad he got to watch. These were not things he was used to feeling. The ground was unsteady underneath him, but it wasn’t entirely in a bad way.

Simone said nothing about the wrapping paper, although she glanced at G.B. curiously. G.B. kept his face blank, even though he couldn’t help but wonder what Simone saw when she looked at him.

Simone exclaimed over the cookies, as did Marshall Lee.

“I told you,” said G.B., claiming one for himself.

“Exemplary?” said Marshall Lee, looking away from Simone’s face for the first time.

G.B. had to swallow at his regard, although that could have been because he’d taken too large a bite of cookie to speak.

_Day Three_

Since Simone didn’t have any testing to attend to, they agreed to visit the museum. G.B. was pleased to learn Simone didn’t have to be accompanied by a nurse or given any special equipment; they just couldn’t leave her by herself, in case something happened. Marshall Lee fidgeted at this news like it was the worst possible pronouncement, and it wasn’t good, but at least there wasn’t anything yet physically wrong with her.

Besides the invisible degeneration in her brain, but G.B. tried not to think about that. He and Simone had spent the evening discussing physical chemistry, and the experience had delighted him. He couldn’t let himself remember that all that knowledge would disappear sooner or later.

G.B. didn’t put on something nice for the visit, since he didn’t have any casual clothes except for Marshall Lee’s t-shirt. Marshall Lee, however, put on a button-down shirt and a pair of black dress pants. When G.B. raised an eyebrow at this, Marshall Lee muttered something about a catering job and told him to go stuff his head down the well, but in a friendly way.

G.B. thought about saying Marshall Lee looked nice, but there was too much truth in that for him to be entirely comfortable with it.

Instead, when Marshall Lee fumbled with the tie, G.B. stepped forward and made a perfect Oxford knot for him.

Marshall Lee stared at him, his hands hovering near G.B.’s. G.B. stepped back, quickly. Too quickly. But he couldn’t help that. He cleared his throat. “There. You look almost like an adult.”

Marshall Lee snorted. “I never look like an adult.”

“Hence the almost.”

***

Simone was a delight at the museum. She knew most of the curators and got them a tour of the back storage area, where they kept all the weird things that weren’t currently on display, like carved walrus tusks and pieces of skulls. G.B. would have been delighted to hear Simone hold court anyway, but it wasn’t just that.

When Simone talked, Marshall Lee looked at her with rapture in his eyes, at least when she wasn’t looking at him. Then he would pretend to be bored or ask an insouciant question, and Simone’s eyes would sparkle and she would hit him on the arm and call him her bad little boy.

G.B. found it hard to swallow the entire time he watched them. He told himself it was allergies, since the back collection was dusty, but he knew the truth. He just wasn’t sure what to do with it.

***

They ate at the museum gift shop. Marshall Lee insisted on ordering off the child’s menu, which G.B. carped at him for.

“You’re just mad because I get corn dogs and you have to eat real people food,” said Marshall Lee, crossing his arms.

“I _like_ salad, thank you very much. Unlike someone I could mention, my food doesn’t have to have seven ingredients I can’t pronounce.”

“Except that you can totally pronounce them, because you’re a fucking know-it-all.”

Simone made a noise; both G.B. and Marshall Lee glanced at her in concern, only to realize she had her hand clamped over her mouth to hide her laughter.

***

When Marshall Lee went to the bathroom, Simone turned her attention to G.B. It was rather like having a spotlight focused on you; G.B. tried not to imagine all that intense intelligence disappearing.

“I’m glad we’ve got a moment,” said Simone, lacing her fingers together.

G.B. made himself sit still. He’d never wanted to fidget before, but he’d never been alone with someone important to Marshall Lee before.

“Don’t look so spooked, boy. I like you. You’re a fine young man, and I’m amazed that my boy is willingly spending time with you.” She looked down at the table, her mouth tightening. “He’s not made the best choices, despite my efforts. I was worried he’d never find a place where he fit in.”

She didn’t speak for a moment. G.B. swallowed. “Are you still worried?” He wasn’t sure he wanted the answer, but he couldn’t leave the question unsaid.

“No,” said Simone immediately. “He has you now.”

G.B. was glad Marshall Lee came back, because he’d found himself at a loss for words.

***

The afternoon was idyllic. Was this what it was like for people with families? Pepper had always been too busy to take G.B. anywhere, and he’d never really missed it, just like he’d never really missed making friends or going to people’s houses or things like that.

Or maybe he had, and he just hadn’t been willing to think about it. He wasn’t sure which bothered him more.

Could you be so lonely you didn’t know you were lonely?

***

The whole day, G.B. forgot Simone was sick; there was no hint of her illness when she talked, and she wasn’t physically infirm.

The problems started when they returned to the hospital. Simone gave Marshall Lee a kiss on the cheek. “Now. You have spent quite enough time with me today. Go and show G.B. a good time.” She paused, and then she looked over her shoulder.

Marshall Lee, always alert even though he did his best to act like he wasn’t, straightened up. “What is it?”

The faintest of frowns touched Simone’s face. “I was just—oh, I remember. I was wondering if I could trouble you to drop my folder off at the university. It’s the last of my obligations there, only—” She looked around again. “I don’t see it.”

Marshall Lee stepped forward quickly. “I’ll find it, don’t worry.”

G.B. stepped up next to him, because he couldn’t just stand still and watch. To his surprise, Marshall Lee didn’t object, and they checked opposite sides of the room for the accordion folder. But there was no sign of it, and the room was very small.

Simone sat heavily, pressing one hand to her forehead. “This is not good,” she said, her voice shaking slightly.

Marshall Lee went over to her side, not pretending not to rush. “It’s fine. Maybe—”

“I’ll go ask at the nurse’s station,” said G.B. quickly. Both Simone and Marshall Lee looked at him like they’d forgotten he was there.

Then Simone nodded. “Yes. Perhaps I brought it out with me when I was sitting in the sunroom earlier. It would be there if it’s been found.” She made her voice light, but her expression was still quietly distressed.

G.B. left, hoping maybe Marshall Lee could calm her without him to distract them. When he stepped out of the room, he let out a breath. What was he _doing_? He was just in the way.

Then he shook himself and went down to the nurse’s station. A polite woman in pink scrubs patterned with large-eyed kittens told him the folder had been put in the mail for her yesterday, when they hadn’t been able to visit. G.B. thanked her and went back to the room.

Simone was weeping—quietly, one hand pressed over her eyes. Marshall Lee was kneeling in front of her, his hands on her knees. He was speaking, but too softly for G.B. to hear.

G.B. let himself look at the expression on Marshall Lee’s face for a long moment. He didn’t want to draw out Simone’s distress, but he needed to remember that look, so he would know that Marshall Lee wasn’t who he pretended to be when they were out in public. He already knew that, but it was good to save things like this.

Finally, he cleared his throat. Both looked up, startled. G.B. didn’t quite enter the room; he didn’t feel comfortable with that. “The nurse at the front desk said you put it in the mail.”

Simone blinked. She stared at G.B. for a moment, then looked away, absently wiping tears from her cheeks as her eyes narrowed. Then she laughed—forced, but still a laugh. Marshall Lee’s eyes did not waver from her face the entire time. “You know, I don’t remember that at all,” she said. “But it’s their job to know. It’s just like me to get worked up over nothing anyway.”

Marshall Lee bit his lip like he wanted to object, but he didn’t say anything.

G.B. felt—full, looking at them, and that was probably why he stumbled away, muttering about needing to use the bathroom. He splashed cold water on his face, but it didn’t help; he was overheated and shaking a little. He took deep breaths, gripping the sink until he could at least pretend he had himself under control.

When he went back to the room, he heard something drifting down the hallway. He realized Marshall Lee was singing and stopped, out of view behind the door, so he could listen, his throat tight and his heart beating hard. Only when Marshall Lee finished did he go inside.

By then, Simone had put her glasses back on, and there was no sign Marshall Lee had just been singing to her. That was probably for the best.

***

G.B. thought they weren’t going to talk about Simone’s slip, since Simone shooed them away after that, and Marshall Lee launched into questions about other food they could make her once they were away from the hospital. And he was okay with that. If they talked about Simone’s slip, then they would talk about how G.B. was not part of their circle, and G.B. would talk about how he wanted to be part of the circle, and that was just not going to happen.

When they got back to Marshall Lee’s house, they ended up watching a documentary about fractals on PBS, and then they had to go on Netflix because the documentary reminded G.B. of another one that he liked. Marshal Lee teased him relentlessly about it, but G.B. knew it was perfunctory, since Marshall Lee watched with rapt attention and even shushed G.B. when G.B. tried to comment on something he was studying.

It was a good evening, in other words, and it had been a good day, in other words, and when G.B. went to bed he touched his lips and found a smile there.

***

G.B. was tired enough that he fell asleep quickly, but he still jerked awake when he heard the door open, just a touch. He lifted his head, just in time to see Marshall Lee disappear from view. It took him a moment to find his voice. “Marshall Lee?”

Marshall Lee didn’t reappear, but G.B. slipped out of bed anyway, padding in his bare feet out of the room. Marshall Lee was nowhere to be seen, but the steps for his loft were extended. He had pulled them up when he went to sleep the other nights.

G.B. hesitated. Then he climbed the stairs.

The blackout curtains had been pushed aside, so a thin strand of moonlight fell on the mattress. Marshall Lee was turned on his side, away from the stairs, curled into the wall. G.B. hesitated again. Then he walked over and knelt on the mattress. He wanted to touch Marshall Lee, but he didn’t. His hands tightened and relaxed on his knees, but he couldn’t make himself move.

Marshall Lee was curled up, his hands fisted in his hair and his arm covering his face, his knees tucked between his chest and the wall. He wasn’t crying—or, if he was, it was too quiet for G.B. to hear.

G.B. was trying to figure out what to say, but Marshall Lee spoke first. “I didn’t mean to wake you up.” His voice was a mumble, almost incomprehensible. “I just wanted to make sure you were really there.”

G.B. frowned at this. He couldn’t help that, but he was glad Marshall Lee didn’t see, because he wouldn’t want it to be taken the wrong way. “Of course I’m really here. Where would I go?” His voice wasn’t soft. He wished he could change that, but maybe it was just something he would have to accept about himself.

Marshall Lee shook his head, curling further into himself. His fingers tightened in his hair. “’S not that. Sometimes—” He broke off and drew in a sharp breath.

G.B. bit his lip. Then he reached over and pried Marshall Lee’s fingers out of his hair. It was too awkward an angle to try and hold Marshall Lee’s hands, but at least he could do that much.

Marshall Lee pressed his face into the crook of his elbow, hiding his eyes. His voice was just a whisper. “Sometimes I think must’ve made you up, because there’s no other way you’d ever hang out with me.”

G.B. put his palms flat on his thighs, biting his lip again. He closed his eyes; it was easier to talk when he wasn’t looking at Marshall Lee. “You should come downstairs.”

Marshall Lee lifted his head, frowning.

G.B. took in a slow breath. “Your bed isn’t big enough for both of us.”

Marshall Lee looked at G.B. for a long moment. G.B. made himself look back, even though he was waiting for the joke or the lewd comment or the sharp remark.

Then, without speaking, Marshall Lee nodded.

***

Marshall Lee didn’t move until G.B. stepped off the mattress and started down the stairs. He hovered behind G.B. as G.B. walked back to Simone’s bedroom and spread the covers. When Marshall Lee made no move to get in bed, G.B. laid down, turning on his side. He’d meant for Marshall Lee to be next to him, but Marshall Lee pressed up against his back instead, shoving G.B. into the center of the bed.

Marshall Lee’s arm went around G.B.’s chest, tightly, and Marshall Lee pressed his face into G.B.’s neck, and G.B. realized he wasn’t breathing. But it wasn’t an asthma attack.

He made himself take in a deep breath anyway, just to make sure.

He’d been tired before, and his eyes were still heavy, but his mind was far too awake to try and fall asleep with Marshall Lee pressed to him like this. It wasn’t even the physical contact, although that was difficult to bear, like overclocking a computer.

It was the thought of Marshall Lee alone, feeling like this.

Moving slowly, so Marshall Lee wouldn’t spook—and so G.B. himself wouldn’t spook—G.B. laced his fingers with Marshall Lee’s. Marshall Lee pressed closer against him with a soft noise.

“Is it Simone?” said G.B., because if he talked then at least it wouldn’t be quiet, and he would have something to think about besides the light flutter of Marshall Lee’s breath on his neck.

Marshall Lee didn’t speak for a moment. Then G.B. felt him shake his head. “I mean, it’s always that,” he breathed. G.B. could feel Marshall Lee’s lips shape the words against his skin; goosebumps broke out on his arms. “That never stops hurting. Sometimes I think I’m okay with it, like she’s okay with it, and then there’s days like today—” He let out a shaky breath. “I don’t know what I’m going to do when it happens. I really don’t know.”

G.B. didn’t press him to define the _it_. Sometimes things were too large to define with a single antecedent.

“But… that’s not what this is about. It’s not why I woke you up, anyway.” Marshall Lee’s fingers tightened around G.B.’s. “I just… I keep thinking what this would be like without you. I mean, you’re weird and stiff and you hate talking about feelings, but you still…” He drew in a breath that shuddered. “You make me feel normal. Like I’ll be able to get through this the way other people do. Even when you look at me like a freak. You look at me like I’m your freak, and I…”

He trailed off. G.B. wondered if Marshall Lee could feel the fast beat of G.B.’s heart.

G.B. felt like he should say something, but the feeling in his chest was too large for words. He wondered when Marshall Lee had started to make him feel like there was a sun inside him. Not always, certainly, but maybe longer than he thought.

Suns exploded. 

But he swallowed and slid his fingers out of Marshall Lee’s. Marshall Lee pulled away, surprised, but G.B. rolled over before Marshall Lee could get away. G.B. spread his arm, leaving a space where Marshall Lee could fit. If he wanted it.

Marshall Lee hesitated on the edge of the bed. Then, slowly, he slid next to G.B., holding his eyes the entire time. G.B. forced himself to maintain steady eye contact, even though he desperately wanted to drop his eyes and pretend none of this was happening. That Marshall Lee didn’t understand what this meant and what they were doing.

Marshall Lee rested his head on G.B.’s shoulder, still holding G.B.’s eyes.

It would have been easy to move closer, to slot his lips against Marshall Lee’s. G.B. had never kissed anyone, but he could see now how it would be done, how Marshall Lee would move to clutch him, his fingers tightening in the shirt he’d given G.B.

G.B. could have given in. Admitting he wanted to be a part of Marshall Lee’s life was harder than admitting he wanted to kiss Marshall Lee—he’d known that after the first time he’d dreamed of Marshall Lee and woke up feeling like he never had before. Wet dreams made him sticky and disgusted. They’d never left him wanting to touch himself more, to hang on to the dream instead of tucking it away underneath numbers and facts.

Instead, he tightened his arm around Marshall Lee, and Marshall Lee accepted that, curling toward G.B. as he had curled toward the wall earlier. He rested his head on G.B.’s chest, and now there was certainly no way he wasn’t hearing G.B.’s heart pound, but for once, he didn’t say anything. If anything, the sound seemed to soothe him: the tension slowly went out of his body, and his eyes drifted closed.

G.B. thought it would take him a long time to fall asleep—the only time he’d ever slept with someone in his bed was when Marshall Lee had told him about Simone, and that hadn’t been good sleep, since Marshall Lee kept kicking him in the middle of the night.

_Day Four_

But then G.B. was waking up. The sunlight leaking through the curtains told him he’d woken up much later than the six AM alarm he alway set.

Marshall Lee had moved away in the night, but only just, and only so he could curl further in on himself, his knees tucked against his chest and his hands covering his face. G.B. wasn’t sure how that was comfortable, but he looked at Marshall Lee for a long moment anyway, thinking of the quiet. And that it was good to wake up knowing where Marshall Lee was, and that he was safe, and that he was rested, and that he had eaten recently. That it was good to see Marshall Lee in his bed.

G.B. brought his hand up to his chest and massaged; it was beginning to tighten, but he wasn’t sure if it was asthma or not.

Nevertheless, he slipped out of bed as quietly as possible and went to find his inhaler. Better to head off an incident before it happened.

***

Thankfully, Marshall Lee kept sleeping, so G.B. had time to clean himself up and get some kind of a grip on things. Not much of a grip. He still felt like his heart was going to beat out of his chest, and even after the two careful puffs described on the side of his inhaler, his chest was still tight. Usually, he did homework to get past this feeling, but since he hadn’t brought any of his books with him, he made more pancakes instead. He piled them on a plate, one after another, and tried to let the familiar motion soothe him.

The operative word was _try_. It wasn’t working, but he didn’t let his mood stop him, so he decided to count that as a victory.

When he returned to the bedroom with the pile of pancakes, Marshall Lee was still asleep. In G.B.’s absence, Marshall Lee had stolen all the blankets and pulled them around himself, so the only part that stuck out was the top of his head. G.B. let himself look at Marshall Lee for a moment. Only a moment.

Then he set the plate on the bedside table and sat down on the edge of the bed.

The motion was enough to wake Marshall Lee; his head jerked out of the pile of blankets as though he were looking for an opponent. Then his eyes settled on G.B., who did his best to look back evenly, as though waking up in the same bed was something they did every day.

(It could be something they did every day, and that was what kept catching in his throat like a fish bone.)

Marshall Lee looked around, slowly, blinking. “…You made pancakes again.”

“I did,” said G.B.

“Are we going to eat them on the bed?” said Marshall Lee, his expression sleep-baffled.

“We’re going to eat them on the floor. You don’t have a tray.”

And that was what they did. Marshall Lee didn’t speak while he ate, but G.B. caught him looking now and then, his expression unreadable.

***

They didn’t go out that day; they stayed in Simone’s room and watched foreign films, which G.B. loved and Marshall Lee loudly complained about. But he didn’t pretend to hesitate when Simone made space for him on the bed.

At some point, they made space for G.B., too, but G.B. did not take it. He stayed in a chair beside them, his eyes occasionally flicking to the empty slot at Marshall Lee’s side where he would just fit if he so chose.

He wasn’t ready for it yet, but it was good to know he had the option.

***

That night G.B. made pizza from scratch, a process which amazed Marshall Lee, even though he said sweet potatoes and onions didn’t belong on pizza.

He still ate half the pizza, and he made G.B. write the recipe for the dough down and tape it to the fridge, so it would be there if he wanted it.

***

When they were finished eating—well, when G.B. caught up to Marshall Lee, since he, like always, had finished his food in a matter of milliseconds—Marshall Lee nudged G.B. with his foot.

G.B. pretended not to notice, just because he liked the way Marshall Lee _hmmph_ ed when he was ignored.

“Did you want something?” he said, lifting his eyes and looking mild as milk.

Marshall Lee made an obscene gesture at him; G.B. didn’t even blink.

Marshall Lee blew out a breath. “…I haven’t practiced in a couple days.”

G.B. went still, although he pretended not to understand the import of that comment. He kept his voice light, brushing flour off his khakis. (He’d forgotten to bring an apron with him, although he couldn’t fault himself for that because he hadn’t planned on doing so much baking.) “Yes, and?”

Marshall Lee _hmmph_ ed again. “I need to work on my own songs,” he said at last, with a sour expression that made it clear he did not like that G.B. was forcing him to talk about this without just getting what he wanted.

G.B. decided he had tormented Marshall Lee enough. And. He needed to say it. “I want to listen.”

***

G.B. had thought they would sit downstairs, like last time, but Marshall Lee’s bass was upstairs, so they ended up there. At some point during the day, Marshall Lee had made his bed, and he sat on the edge, slowly, as though he was afraid of spooking G.B. back down the stairs.

G.B. did consider going back down the stairs, but not seriously. He sat at the head of the bed, keeping a healthy space between himself and Marshall Lee. He didn’t want to spook Marshall Lee either, after all. And he did want to hear Marshall Lee sing.

***

He didn’t remember falling asleep to the sound of Marshall Lee’s voice, but he must have, because the next thing he remembered was waking to someone carding their fingers through his hair.

He opened his eyes, slowly, because he didn’t want the feeling to stop, and saw Marshall Lee leaning over him. G.B. could not name the soft expression in Marshall Lee’s eyes, but he felt something tighten around his heart when Marshall Lee didn’t immediately hide it away.

Marshall Lee swallowed. “You can stay up here if you want.” G.B. wasn’t sure if he’d ever heard Marshall Lee speak so softly. “I’ll go downstairs.”

G.B. blinked and made himself sit up, groping instinctively for his glasses. Marshall Lee pressed them into his palm. He settled them on his nose, then shook his head. “No,” he said, making himself focus on Marshall Lee even though he was only within shouting distance of awake. “I told you. This bed’s only big enough for one person.”

Marshall Lee smiled, and for once he didn’t say anything to ruin it.

***

G.B. was still half-asleep, capable of little more than falling in the direction of Simone’s bed. To his surprise, Marshall Lee pulled the blankets out from under him and fixed them before slowly tucking himself up against G.B.’s back, giving G.B. plenty of time to move away if he chose.

G.B. did not.

After a moment, Marshall Lee started to sing softly, his lips brushing G.B.’s ears.

***

G.B. could not remember sleeping better in his life.

_Day Five_

G.B. woke with a weight across his chest. For a moment, he couldn’t place it. Then he looked down and saw that Marshall Lee was almost on top of him, his head pillowed on G.B.’s chest and his legs draped over G.B.’s.

G.B.’s first instinct was to get up, like he had yesterday, but he didn’t. For one thing, there was no way to gracefully extract himself from this position.

For another…

He brought one hand up and brushed it, lightly, over Marshall Lee’s tight cornrows. G.B.’s arm was asleep, but that seemed like a small matter in the grand scheme of things.

Marshall Lee stiffened suddenly, and his eyes snapped open. He lifted his head and looked at G.B. G.B. looked back, unsure what to do. Marshall Lee glanced around without moving further away, one of his hands fisting in G.B.’s pajama shirt. “I didn’t know where I was for a second,” he said, almost to himself.

G.B. swallowed. He wanted to get up and at the same time he never wanted to move.

Marshall Lee looked back at him; Marshall Lee’s eyes were still wide, startled, but looking at G.B. seemed to help him calm. “I’m not used to sleeping with someone in the same bed,” said Marshall Lee, quietly.

G.B. bit his lip. “You think I am?”

But Marshall Lee wasn’t listening; something had shifted in his expression, and his eyes flicked down, to G.B.’s lips. G.B.’s free hand, the one not trapped under Marshall Lee, clenched in the sheets.

Marshall Lee was settling back down—slowly, drawing out the moment—when “Für Elise” loudly issued from the bedside table.

Marshall Lee jerked away like a startled cat. G.B. was almost too stunned to move. After a moment, Marshall Lee dropped the Blackberry on G.B.’s face.

G.B. stabbed the answer button and sat up, almost too dazed to say hello.

It was Pepper, of course. MoChro never called; he didn’t like phones. He had a landline, but only so work could call him—you could leave him a voicemail, but he would never call you back.

“Barnabas,” said Pepper, her voice stern. “Were you going to call me at all?”

Marshall Lee had moved to the end of the bed, although he hadn’t got up. G.B. wanted to move to his side, but he couldn’t do that while he was talking to Pepper. The thought was too strange. “I’ll be home tomorrow, Pepper,” said G.B., rubbing his forehead. “I’ll tell you everything then.”

Pepper huffed. “You can’t blame me for worrying, Barnabas. It’s not like that boy you’re with has the best track record.”

G.B.’s eyes flicked to Marshall Lee, wondering if he could hear the conversation. Hoping not. “It’s been fine, Pepper, I promise.” He cleared his throat. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I was in the middle of a meal, and it’s rude to be on the phone at a restaurant. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Pepper huffed again and hung up. G.B. wondered, briefly, what had gotten her so upset—although he supposed he’d never been anywhere without calling her nightly. It hadn’t occurred to him that she might want updates while he was here.

All of this was very unlike him, he supposed. He couldn’t blame her for worrying.

Marshall Lee was looking at the far wall. “Lying to your foster mom. Not very gentlemanly, gumdrop.”

G.B. wasn’t sure what to make of the nickname. He wasn’t sure what to make of any of this. “It wasn’t a lie,” he said at last. “Just—premature. We’ll have to go out if you want anything for breakfast after all.” Marshall Lee looked over his shoulder, an eyebrow raised. “You’re out of pancake ingredients.”

Marshall Lee’s lips twitched, and he looked away, drumming one hand on his leg.

G.B. wanted Marshall Lee to come back, but he didn’t know how to ask. Instead, he said, “I don’t know about you, but I’m going back to sleep.”

Marshall Lee stiffened slightly. “I didn’t know you were capable of sleeping past the asscrack of dawn, Bubba.”

G.B. ignored the name again. “It’s my vacation. I’m contractually obligated to sleep in at least once.”

Marshall Lee took in a breath and let it out. Then he nodded. He got up, but only to draw the curtains tighter closed, so the crack of sunlight falling across the bed disappeared and the only light came from the alarm clock. G.B. heard rather than saw Marshall Lee get back into bed.

“Just for a while,” said Marshall Lee, settling against G.B.’s side.

“Just for a while,” G.B. agreed.

***

They ended up going out for brunch at a pancake place that Simone liked. A very late brunch. Marshall Lee sat squished up next to Simone, stealing bits of pancake from her plate even though he had strawberry crepes.

***

Since it was G.B.’s last night there, they stayed at the hospital as long as visiting hours allowed, watching subtitled movies.

This time, when Marshall Lee made space, G.B. took it, resting his arm along the headboard of the bed. Marshall Lee sat balanced between him and Simone, and even though he complained about the choice of movie at length, he was smiling.

***

When the nurse came to tell them it was time to leave, Marshall Lee bent so Simone could kiss his cheek. G.B. made to leave the room, but Simone gestured to him. He stepped forward, hesitantly, and put his palm in hers. She squeezed. “I’m glad you came.” That was the kind of thing other people said because they were supposed to; Simone said it because she meant it.

G.B. nodded. His chest was tightening, but he said, “I’m glad Marshall Lee invited me.”

Simone smiled at him; she was one of those people who held the whole world in her smile, and G.B. was so, so glad Marshall Lee had someone like that in his life.

***

On the walk home, G.B. took steady, even breaths, but he still had to take his glasses off and wipe his eyes.

Marshall Lee noticed he was falling behind and turned. “What’s the matter, bubblegum?” His voice was cautious; G.B. could ignore it if he wanted.

Instead, G.B. said, softly, “You’re lucky.” He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to get himself under control.

A hand closed around his and squeezed, just gently. “Yeah. I know.”

They walked back holding hands, without speaking.

***

When they got back to Marshall Lee’s place, G.B.’s throat tightened as he realized it was the last night he would spend here. He could pretend things had changed while he was here; when he went back home, he had no idea what would happen.

Marshall Lee turned to him, still holding his hand. “So what do you want to do?” There wasn’t even a lewd suggestion in his voice. Was he thinking about the same thing?

G.B. swallowed, looking at their linked hands even though that was, in a way, harder than looking at Marshall Lee’s face. “…I’m tired. We could watch Netflix on my tablet.” He didn’t specify where, but he knew Marshall Lee would take him up on it.

And they did. Marshall Lee tucked himself up under the curve of G.B.’s arm like he’d always been there, and they fell asleep watching David Attenborough.

_Day Six_

G.B. forgot to set an alarm for the next morning, though it didn’t really matter what time he left. He woke disoriented, one arm draped over Marshall Lee. They were face to face, forehead to forehead, and Marshall Lee was already awake, looking at him with wide, guileless eyes. It was the sort of look he usually only wore late at night, when they were both apt to forget what had happened anyway.

“It was good,” said Marshall Lee, his voice very soft. “Having you here.”

G.B. left his arm draped over Marshall Lee, even though he was stiff and wanted to move. “It was good. Being here.”

***

He showered and dressed and packed his things slowly, with none of the efficiency he prided himself on. Marshall Lee sat on the couch playing his bass, pretending not to watch.

G.B. felt they ought to talk about things, except that he was not good at talking about things. Especially when Marshall Lee was involved.

Once he was packed and dressed, Marshall Lee got up and went to take his motorcycle jacket off the hook. He held out the other to G.B., and G.B. took it, looking down into Marshall Lee’s face despite himself.

Marshall Lee bit his lip. “Maybe you can visit in the summer, yeah?”

“I’d like that.”

***

G.B. still didn’t like motorcycles, and he still made this point to Marshall Lee, at length. Marshall Lee called him a pussy, and G.B. lectured him about gendered slurs, and for a little while everything was normal.

***

G.B. had almost forgotten what his actual house looked like; when he closed his eyes and thought of rest, he thought not of his own white bed, shoved against the wall, but the blue bed in Simone’s room and Marshall Lee’s fingers tangled with his own.

He handed his helmet and jacket to Marshall Lee, who handed G.B. his bags in exchange. They stood looking at each other for a long moment.

“You’ll call me, won’t you?” said G.B., when he couldn’t bear the silence a moment longer.

Marshall Lee looked away, and for a moment G.B. thought he was going to say no. But then a strange, crooked smile touched his face. He stepped forward and put a hand on the side of G.B.’s face, pulling him down until their lips could meet.

G.B. stood perfectly still. It was his first kiss, and nothing like what he would expect of a kiss from Marshall Lee: soft, and chaste, and warm, like a back pressed to his in the middle of the night or fingers laced with his own while they walked down the street.

“Yeah,” said Marshall Lee against his mouth. “Yeah. I’ll call you.”


End file.
